The gen'ral fubjects to a well-wifht King Quit their own part, and in obfequious fondness Crowd to his prefence, where their untaught love Muft needs appear offence. How now, fair maid? Enter Ifabella. Ifab. I am come to know your pleasure. Ang. That you might know it, would much better Than to demand, what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. Ifab. Under your fentence? Ang. Yea. Lab. When, I beseech you?. that in his reprieve, Ang. Ha fy, thefe filthy vices! 'twere as good Their fawcy fweetnefs, that do coin heav'n's image As to put metal in reftrained means, To make a falfe one. Ilab. 'Tis fet down fo in heav'n, but not in earth. Ang. And fay you fo? then I fhall poze you quickly Which had you rather, that the moit" juft law Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, Give up your body to fuch fweet uncleannels, As fhe, that he hath ftain'd ? Ilab. Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body than my foul. Ang. I talk not of your foul; our compell'd fins Stand more for number than accompt. Ijab. How fay you? Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Anfwer to this: Against the thing I fay. I, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:: tab. Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my foul, Ang. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your foul, Ifab. That I do beg his life, if it be fin, Ang. Nay, but hear me; །། Your fenfe purfues not mine: either, you're ignorantz Or feem fo, craftily; and that's not good. Ifab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better." Ang. Thus wifdom wishes to appear moft bright, When it doth tax itself: as thefe black masques Proclaim an en-fhield beauty ten times louder, Than beauty could difplay'd. But mark me, and To be received plain, I'll speak more grofs ; Your brother is to die. Ifab. So Ang. And his offence is fo, as it appears Ang. Admit no other way to fave his life, Ijab. fab. As much for my poor brother, as myself; That longing I've been fick før, ere I'd yield" r Ang. Then must your brother die. Ijab. And 'twere the cheaper way; Better it were, a brother dy'd at once; Than that a fifter, by redeeming him, Should die for ever. Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the fentence That you have flander'd fo A Ifab. An ignominious ranfom, and free pardon, Are of two houfes; lawful mercy, fure, Is nothing kin to foul redemption. Ang. You feem'd of late to make the law a tyrant, 1 And rather prov'd the fliding of your brother A merriment, than a vice. Ifab. Oh pardon me, my Lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean I fomething do excufe the thing I hate, For his advantage that I dearly love. Ifab. Elfe let my brother die, (13) If not a feodary, but only he, (13) Elfe let my brother d'e, 4 150. If not a feodary, but only be, &c.] This is fo obfcure a paffage, but fo fine in its application, that it deferves to be explain'd. A feodary was one, that, in the times of vaffalage, held lands of the chief Lord, under the tenure of paying rent and fervice: which tenures were call'd feuda amongst the Gorbs. This being premised, let us come to a paraphrafe of our Author's words. We are all "frail, fays Argelo, yes, replies Ifabella; if all mankind were not feudaries, who owe what they have to this tenure of imbecillity and who fucceed each other by the fame tenure, as well as my brother, I would give him up." And the comparing mankind, (who, according to fome Divines, lie under the weight of origin fin.) to a feudary, who owes fuit and ferenice to his Lord, is, I think, que of the most beautiful allufions imaginable.. Q3. Mr. Warburtors. Ang. Nay, women are frail too. Ijab. Ay, as the glaffes where they view themfelves; Which are as eafy broke, as they make forms. Women! help heav'n; men their creation mar, In profiting by them: nay, call us ten times frail For we are foft as our complexions are, And credulous to falfe prints. Ang. I think it well; And from this teftimony of your own fex, That is, a woman; if you're more, you're none. Ifab. I have no tongue but one; gentle my Lord, Ifab. My brother did love Juliet; And you tell me, that he fhall die for it, Ag. He fhall not, Ijabel, if you give me love. Ifab. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't, Which feems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. Ang. Believe me, on mine honour, Ijab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, Or, with an out-ftrech'd throat, I'll tell the world Ang. Who will believe thee, Ifabel? Fit thy confent to my fharp appetite, Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes, That banish what they fue for: redeem thy brother Or elfe he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness fhall his death draw out Say what you can; my falfe o'erweighs your true. [Exit Ifab. To whom should I complain? did I tell this, Who would believe me? O moft perilous mouths, That bear in them one and the felf-fame tongue, Either of condemnation or approof; Bidding the law make curtfy to their will; Then, Ijabel, live, chafte; and, brother, die; And fit his mind to death, for his foul's reft. [Exit |